Dark Water (Cooper M. Reid Book 1) (10 page)

“You’re a buzzkill, Cooper. Damn…I guess you really
are
changing.”

***

Stephanie drove this time, taking them back to the place along the beach they had visited the night before. She parked in the exact same spot and they walked out onto the rocky terrain, finding that it looked totally different in the light of day. They could hear waves crashing, gulls crying and, somewhere in the distance, the droning of a lawn mower.

The noise of the ocean seemed to be calling to them, almost like it was teasing them with the horror they had stumbled upon the night before. But they were more interested in the rocky ground at their feet. They walked along strategically, Stephanie fanning out to the right and Cooper marching along to the left, looking down to the ground for any obvious fissures or other indications of a cave beneath their feet.

There wasn’t much ground to cover to either side. On the left, further away from the beach houses and the town beyond, a few small dunes and crabgrass took over. To the right, there were sporadic weeds and the occasional beige indication of sand beneath it. From the spot where the car was parked to the slight drop off onto the beach (which didn’t look nearly as tall in the daylight) the area covered about one hundred feet.

“Anything?” Cooper asked after about twenty minutes of searching.

“Nothing,” Stephanie answered. “Just rocks and bird shit.”

“Let’s check the little cliff,” Cooper said, pointing towards the beach.

They walked to the edge and ambled down with much more grace than they had displayed nine hours ago. The rock face seemed sturdier as it was warmed by the morning sun. When they were both on the sand below, they studied the small rock wall that separated the rocky terrain from the beach. It took less than five minutes of searching to discover that other than a few minor nooks and crannies, there was nothing of interest.

“So what does this mean?” Stephanie asked.

“It means that if there
are
caves around here, the entrances to them have probably been sealed up.”

“So more research then?”

“Yeah. Hooray.”

Cooper walked a few yards further down towards the water and looked to the two big black rocks to the left. He then looked to his right, in the direction of the beach houses. There were a few people out, skirting along the shoreline. Two younger boys were waist deep in the water, far enough away to be nothing more than splashing smudges in the water.

“This all looks very different in the day, doesn’t it?” Cooper said.

“Yeah,” she said sarcastically. “I think it’s because of the sun.”

He smiled at her and rolled her eyes. “No, I mean…hell, I don’t know
what
I mean. It
feels
different. Houses that are legitimately haunted sometimes feel the same way. They feel mostly fine and normal during the day but then you can actually feel the sinister vibe of the place once night falls.”

“And you’re getting that here, on this beach?” Stephanie asked.

“Not very strong…but there’s
something.
You don’t feel it?”

He was surprised to see that she was actually taking the time to concentrate. Of course, her eyes were hiding behind her sunglasses, so he couldn’t see her reaction. But she stayed that way for a good ten seconds before she shrugged in defeat.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be feeling, I guess.”

Cooper was about to explain it to her when he noticed that someone was walking their way. It was a woman, walking towards them from the direction of the beach houses. At first, he thought it was Jenny Blackstock but then realized that this woman was shorter and had a dark shade of blonde hair.

Stephanie followed his gaze and gave the woman a polite smile.

“You know her?” she asked Cooper quietly.

“No.”

The woman was edging closer to them, angling away from the ocean and directly towards them. She was close enough to limit any further hushed conversation.

“Hello there,” the woman said.

“Hi,” Cooper and Stephanie said, nearly in unison.

Now that she was closer to them, Cooper thought that this woman was likely in her late fifties—at least fifteen years older than Jenny Blackstock. She was well-tanned and carried the vibe of someone that was happy most of the time. Her smile seemed genuine and the cheer in her voice was thick.

“I’m so sorry to intrude,” she said, looking directly at Cooper. “But I believe you were out here yesterday with the Blackcocks. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Cooper said hesitantly. “Can I ask how you know that?”

The woman pointed back towards the way she had come. “I live in the last house on the row,” she said. “I saw you from my kitchen window yesterday and sort of snooped a bit. I watched you guys walk all the way out here. And then I saw you hopping down off of the rock wall a few minutes ago while I was on my back porch.”

Cooper glanced at the house, sitting about one hundred yards away. He tried to imagine living in a house where you could see the two large black rocks from your back porch. A chill passed through him like a rocket.

“That probably sounded stalker-like,” the woman said. “I apologize. I also apologize for prying, but there’s really no way to subtly ask this next question. But…were you talking to them about the weird things that happen around their house?”

Cooper was quickly growing uncomfortable with the conversation and hoped that Stephanie would intervene with her quick wit. But she remained silent, maybe enjoying the sight of him being taken off guard.

“I don’t think the Blackstocks would want me divulging that information,” he said.

“Probably not,” the woman said.

Cooper looked to Stephanie, giving her a quick
help me out
face.

The woman frowned and looked down to the sand. She shrugged and then extended her hand.

“Please forgive me,” she said. “My name is Mary Guthrie. Like I said, I live right there in the very last house on this stretch. And if you
were
here talking to the Blackstocks about the things that go on in their house, I think I might have some things to add.”

“Like what?” Cooper asked, not realizing until it was too late that he had basically showed his hand in that question.

“It depends,” Mary said. “Are they hearing the laughter of children at night?”

Cooper’s discomfort vanished in an instant, replaced with curiosity. He noticed that Stephanie went rigid beside him and took a slow step away from Mary Guthrie.

“How did you know that?” Cooper asked.

Mary smiled and tilted her head back towards her house. “Tell me,” she said. “What exactly is it that you do? Why are you here to see the Blacstocks?”

“I’m just trying to help.”

“Are you one of those ghost hunters or something?”

“No. Not exactly. I’m just here to help.”

“Do you know how?”

“No,” Cooper admitted, starting to get annoyed with Mary Guthrie’s questions.

“Why don’t you come with me?” she said. “I think I might have something you’d want to see.”

13

They followed Mary Guthrie back to her house, Stephanie walking closely to Cooper as they got better acquainted. Cooper glanced back only a single time to take in the sight of the two black rocks. Part of him fully expected the rocks to be moving with them, keeping pace. It was just a funny sort of vibe he was starting to pick up—a vibe that he had come to know and trust during his careers as an FBI agent and as a writer.

After formal introductions were made—Cooper being as vague as he could about his history—he warmed up to Mary Guthrie a bit.

“So do you live here during the summer?” Cooper asked.

“No. I’m leaving next week to go to my summer home in Massachusetts. I’ve already got this house rented out through the end of August with only one week left open.”

“But you live here for the rest of the year?”

“From the end of September to the beginning of June,” Mary said. “The beach is so much nicer when it’s quiet and all of the tourists have packed up and gone home.” She grinned politely and added, “No offense.”

“None taken,” Cooper said.

Stephanie remained quiet, which struck Cooper as odd. Usually, she was extremely talkative around new people, wanting to get to know them better. She had a habit of watching people for a few moments, trying to size them up before uttering so much as a word. He wondered if she was letting him run this show or if Mary’s knowledge of what was happening to the Blackstocks had frightened her.

Mary led them into her house by taking them up a long flight of stairs that connected her back porch directly to the beach. A single tiny dune and a ragged portion of fence was all that separated the stairs from the harder packed sand of the beach below.

“You know how most beach houses have those cutesy names like Seagull Landing or Beach Bum or what have you?” Mary asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well this is Piper’s Rest,” she said. “I don’t know how familiar you are with the pirate folklore around here, but Piper was this vagabond pirate that has some pretty great stories tied to him.”

“You hear that?” Stephanie said, finally speaking up and playfully nudging Cooper. “Pirates!”

“Quiet, you,” he said.

Mary smiled at them and Cooper saw her quickly glance to his left hand, probably looking for a ring.
Cute,
he thought.
She’s checking to see if Steph and I are married.

Mary led them inside where Cooper saw a very well-maintained house that was laid out very similar to the Blackstock’s residence. The back sliding glass door opened onto a large living area with a connected kitchen. Two hallways led in opposite directions; the one in front of them led to a large open staircase which boasted a landing that was adorned with a picture window.

Several boxes and two suitcases were pushed against the wall. Cooper assumed it was the last remnants of Mary’s upcoming move to Massachusetts.

“So what do you have to show me?” Cooper asked.

“A few things, actually,” she said. She walked to the kitchen and opened up a drawer. She removed a small book that looked like a diary of sorts, complete with a pen sticking out of the top, resting in the spine.

“This is the first thing,” she said, handing the book over to Cooper.

He opened and it saw the handwriting of several different people. Just as he began to understand what he was seeing, Mary started to explain.

“Most beach house owners leave out a book to let the renters leave little comments about how they enjoyed their time in their homes. In mine, you’ll see that I’ve had people from all over the country stay here at Piper’s Rest. I even had a family from Poland stay here a few summers back. But what I think might interest you,” she said, reaching over and rifling through the pages as Cooper held the book open, “are notes like this one.”

She pointed to a note that was written in thin print. It was dated July 5
^th
, 2008. Cooper felt Stephanie sidling up next to him so she could also read it.

The note read:
Lovely house. We really liked the fact that the beach in this area isn’t crowded. Have to say though…we think Piper’s Rest might have some ghosts! LOL! Doors opened and closed by themselves and on two occasions, we heard a kid talking late at night. We had a great time at your house but are leaving a bit freaked out. All the best!

The note was signed
the Abraham family – Abilene, TX.
Cooper read the note again and started flipping through the pages.

“There’s another one here,” Mary said. “This is the longest one. There are about a dozen or so others like this, out of roughly fifty entries.”

Again, Cooper read an entry from the guest book, looking over the handwriting of someone he had never met but felt somehow connected to. It was another of those odd feelings he’d been having ever since returning from—well, from wherever the hell he had been for the nine months he had disappeared.  He read it, holding it close to him so that Stephanie could easily see it, too.

We came to the beach for some fun and relaxation. We got plenty of that, but we also got something else. We got a firm belief in the afterlife. On more four occasions, we saw objects move of their own accord: the TV remote, a glass, the picture of the dunes on the wall on the 1
^st
floor, and one of my husband’s sandals. Our laptop also kept cutting on and off without us being anywhere near it. Last night, our fifteen year old son woke up and swore that there was someone else in his room with him. You have a very pretty home and the beach is peaceful and beautiful here, but please understand that I could not recommend your home to someone wanting to have a restful vacation. We’re leaving in an hour or so and my son is eerily quiet. I have considered calling the emergency contact no. you left with us but don’t want to make this any more real than it already is. I will leave it all in this note and hopefully leave all of this behind us.

The note was dated August 17
^th
, 2010 and was signed by Liz Follen of Richmond, Virginia.

“Did you know the house had this activity before you started renting it out?” Cooper asked.

“Yes. I’ve known since 1989 or so. But none of the renters ever said anything about it. It wasn’t until about five or six years ago that the renters started getting vocal about it. I always just assumed that the ghosts or whatever they were went dormant when new people showed up.”

Stephanie reached for the book and Cooper handed it to her as he started to look around the room.

“Have you ever felt in danger?” he asked.

“Not really. I’m pretty sure the ghosts are children. That’s very sad, of course, but I can sense a sort of playfulness in whatever is going on here.”

“Children? You’re sure?”

“I’ve heard children laughing,” Mary said. “And some of the things they do is like what a child seeking attention would do. One morning just a few months ago I couldn’t find my car keys. I looked everywhere for them and ended up finding them in the fridge.”